


Ravenous

by PapuruKakugan



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Gaping, Blow Jobs, Body Modification, Breeding Kink, Cock Warming, Come Swallowing, Daddy Kink, Deepthroating, Druid Stiles Stilinski, Father/Son Incest, Fisting, Hellhound Jordan Parrish, Implied Public Sex, Large Cock, M/M, Magic, Magic used for Body Modification, Oral Knotting, Predator/Prey, Rape Roleplay, Safewords, Semi-Public Sex, Stiles is 17, cock plug, come addiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 05:46:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8000788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PapuruKakugan/pseuds/PapuruKakugan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Ever the curious Sheriff he quickly reads it without picking it up, but rips it from the desk when he understands its contents. It’s a spell.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>A spell in which the target will become dependant on the sexual ejaculation of the male human species for nourishment. Written in Stiles’ handwriting.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Starved

**Author's Note:**

> I was looking for something where the character becomes dependant on cum for sustenance. I didn't find it...
> 
> So I wrote this.

Alan wakes to brown eyes and fair hair nuzzling against his groin. Low whines from soft lips, gentle nips from teeth and quiet pants of breath ghosting over his half hard cock.

“Please, I'm hungry.” The plea is moaned as Stiles nudges his mouth and nose over Alan’s huge balls, kitten licks arousing him to full hardness.

Alan's hand moves to grip the short hair and tugs that pleading mouth to his already dripping tip.

“Suck, boy.” He orders. The words barely leaving his mouth before hot, wet engulfes his entire length. The tip of Stiles tongue lathing over meaty balls while his throat bulges.

Alan uses his hands to guide Stiles’ head back so he can breathe, something the boy forgets to do when he's hungry. Those same hands slam his cock back into the tight throat in a ruthless pace. Throwing his head back he relishes slide of his painfully swollen cock and balls slapping into Stiles' chin. Cum is already slowly dribbling out of Alan’s cock, sliding down into his hungry boy’s stomach, making him whine for more. Impatient.

“Good boy, such a hungry one this morning aren't we?” Alan croons over the squelching gags of Stiles’ abused orifice. Lips are pulled down flush to his groin and he groans at the constricting sensation of rippling muscles begging for air. He yanks Stiles’ hair to remove his spit slicked length, thick saliva trails still connecting it to the boy's mouth, before directing the tongue to caress his balls. They're swollen and huge with a night's worth of food for his boy, like fat, ripe apples.

Stiles groans and sucks eagerly on wrinkled flesh, pulls as much as he can into his mouth and uses teeth to graze the surface. He gets frantic as he feels how full they are, eyes wide and pupils blown wide in lust; he's so _hungry_.

Alan’s moans get louder and his hips buck as a small glob of cum spills down his cock, his sack too full to contain it all. There's a whimper and the boy hurriedly chases the droplet with his tongue. Lips wrap around the head of his cock and suck harshly as the hot length begins to spill in earnest.

“Fuck yes, here's your milk. Such a hungry little slut. Take it, take my cum.” Alan forces his cock back into Stiles’ throat, the boy writhing and whining as his breakfast is shot straight down his throat. He pulls his cock back so the cum pools in the boy's mouth, swallowed as soon as it makes contact with his palate. Stiles is shivering in delight, hunger being sated as his own body forces out a dry orgasm, tiny balls twitching as his length tries to pulse out release.

Stiles doesn't produce seed anymore, he doesn't need to. The spell he’d found to change his bodily functions had some _side effects_ that were not underappreciated. The only downside to the spell was the sheer amount of sustenance Stiles would need to survive. Luckily, being the smart man he is, Alan easily found a fertility ritual that increased sperm production in adult males. A little tweaking and rewording made it permanent. Now Stiles gets fed by Alan four times a day. At breakfast when they wake up; during Stiles’ lunch break from school; after Alan has eaten his own dinner; and a nightcap before they retire for bed. Weekends are mostly spent with Stiles on his knees under Alan’s desk at the veterinary practice, half asleep and suckling on the fat cock.

It takes a couple of minutes before Alan’s balls stop drooling cum into Stiles’ mouth, who looks disappointed by the notion that breakfast is over. He laughs and flicks the boy’s brow lightly,

“Don’t worry, lunchtime will be here before you know it.” He placates the cum hungry boy still lapping at his softened cock, which is steadily hardening again under the attention. Beseeching eyes plead for more.

“Though I suppose there might be a little left.” Alan admits before dragging Stiles down again by the hair.

* * *

The Sheriff had been getting suspicious. Concerned about his son's behaviour. He'd been sneaking out late at night; leaving early before even he awoke; going unaccounted for during school lunchtime; spending all his free time around Deaton at the practice. John was worried. He knew Stiles wasn’t stupid enough to get caught up in drugs or alcohol, no that had been drummed into the boy since he could talk. Stiles getting caught up in _other_ things though...

The Sheriff is _very_ suspicious. Werewolves, Banshees, Werecoyotes, Kitsune, Darachs and Hellhounds were just _some_ of the insane dealings his son has been entangled with recently. So really it shouldn’t have been a surprise when John decided, for the first time since he entered law enforcement, to actually _break_ the law.

It was 11pm on a Wednesday night, Stiles was at home asleep (or playing Xbox with Scott). The Sheriff had booked time off tomorrow morning, claiming he wanted a movie night with his son and a lie in. No one batted an eye at the request, he was the Sheriff. A hard-worked Sheriff at that.

In actual fact, the Sheriff of Beacon Hills county was breaking and entering into Beacon Hills Veterinary Care Practice. It had been easy to find the alarm codes in the database, disabling them after picking the back door lock took less than 30 seconds. He was in.

There were no lights besides a low glow in the long term holding area at the other side of the clinic, thankfully no animals startled to give away his position. The office was the first door to the right down the hallway and to John’s surprise, unlocked. The door swung open without a sound as he crept inside. His eyes already adjusted to the darkness he found the antique armoire in the corner, opening the doors quickly and keying in the spied keycode into the numberpad on the large safe. Inside, as John already knew, were old tomes containing random spells and remedies; map scrolls with supernatural hotpots; small tins and glass jars containing dried herbs, spices or polished gemstones; sheaves of notes wrapped in ribbon and twine; long thin boxes of metal rods in different metals. But the answer John was looking for wasn’t here. It was coming through the back door.

John slammed the safe and armoire door shut as quietly as he could, darting towards the small supply closet set back into the room. Deaton shuffled into the office, murmuring quietly, fabric rustling and the unmistakable sound of a belt dropping onto the floor.

John’s breathing quickens as he realises just what is about to happen. He really should make his presence known, regardless of the consequences of the _Sheriff_ being caught breaking and entering. Breaking a law and an oath is one matter, spying on someone’s sexual adventures is another entirely. He’s steeling himself to face the music when his thoughts are interrupted by the office owners voice,

“Tell me what you want?” The question is asked as though the answer is already a foregone conclusion, “What are you hungry for?”

There’s a low whimper that goes straight to John’s own cock. _What?!_ He’s spying on someone, he should not be getting _aroused_ from this.

Breathy moans precede the begging. Begging in voice John has heard before. A voice John knows more than his own. The voice sounding words he’s heard in the _exact_ same configuration before. His boy's voice.

“Please, I’m so hungry.” Another whimper and a whine before the now muffled voice returns, “Please, I’m starving.”

John peeks through the ajar closet door, having left it open, afraid the noise would attract attention to his presence. What he sees turns his half hard cock into diamond that could cut glass.

His son is on his knees before Deaton, mouthing at the underside of his cock, his balls hung obscenely low. _His balls_. Fuck they’re huge. Angry red and straining, failing at keeping everything contained so it’s dribbling and dripping onto Stiles’ wet lips, tongue immediately flicking out to pick up the white fluid.

Stiles whines when he receives permission to sate his hunger, massaging the purpling cockhead deep inside his throat. His hands are wrapped around Deaton’s butt for leverage as they both force fuck Stiles’ mouth. The bulging sight of his son’s neck makes John weak in the knees, cock twitching against its confines. His son, _his son_ , is frantic in getting the prize; tears fall down his cheeks, lashes wet and sticking; his fingers twitch with the strain at holding himself so close to Deaton’s groin; his hips stuttering in their own search for friction.

John finds himself praising his boy in his head as the scene continues. _Such a good little cocksucker; choking yourself on a fat cock; whining like a slut for it; cumming just from having a cock ruin your throat; feeding from those plump, inflated balls; lapping at the head like a good boy; good boy, good boy, good boy-_

John cums untouched, fully clothed, a fist stuffed in his mouth, the other pressed against his groin, as he watches Stiles rest his head on Deaton’s thigh, breathing heavily but so satisfied and gazing up at the veterinarian in pure adoration.

His thoughts are such a mess he barely registers the two others leaving the premises a few minutes later. He definitely doesn’t notice the piece of paper laid on Deaton’s desk in plain sight. He does see it however when he’s finally collected enough to sneak back out of the clinic, the off white sheet of A5 he knows wasn’t there when he came in.

Ever the curious Sheriff, he quickly reads it without picking it up, but rips it from the desk when he understands its contents. It’s a spell.

A spell in which the target will become dependant on the sexual ejaculation of the male human species for nourishment. Written in _Stiles’_ handwriting.

His cock twitches so strongly it’s painful.


	2. Nourished

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little bit of plot. A lot of cum.
> 
> "“Can I do it?” The question leaves his mouth before his conscious mind can stop it. His eyes grow wide when he realises the implications of what he asked. Deaton smiles widely, warmly, eyes crinkling at the corners in understanding.
> 
> “Yes.”
> 
> “I want to take care of him.” The Sheriff admits in a small voice."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for slight infantilism? But only in the cock warming, cuddling, daddy kink sense.
> 
> Also warning for actual father/son incest.

It’s been 36 hours since the Sheriff of Beacon Hills witnessed his son feed from Deaton’s cock. 36 hours since the Sheriff found out his own son had changed his body, with _magic_ , to depend on something so lewd for nourishment. It’s been 36 hours since the Sheriff of Beacon Hills came in his pants at the sight of his son suckling for his dinner.

It’s also been 60 minutes since the Sheriff jerked off furiously to the memory.

He’d left the clinic in a daze, still clutching the paper containing the spell, arrived back home and not checking if his son was back where he was supposed to be. Instead he found the bottle of scotch hidden behind the bookcase and stared at it for an hour. He put it back.

He knows now that Deaton was aware of his presence, and that he hadn’t stopped Stiles from performing his feeding ritual that night, fully intending John to witness said debauchery. But why did he leave the paper for him to find? What cause did Deaton have? Was he regretful of their actions and hopeful John confronted Stiles? Did he just want to inform the Sheriff that his own son had done this of his own volition, that it was consensual? Was it all to appease his worried state of mind at Stiles’ erratic behaviour?

Another answer lodged itself in John’s mind that didn’t want to leave; did Deaton want him to _help?_ That thought was pervasive and incessant, made even more prominent at the memory of silently praising his boy during the closeted deviation. The thought of being the one on the receiving end of those big, brown eyes, the tip of his cock resting in his son’s mouth as begging words were whispered around it. Pleading eyes, hungry for daddy’s cum-

It’s another 20 minutes until John can censor his mind again, fist stained white with the fourth release of the day, this one pitiful in fatigue. He’s thankful he called into the station to extend his vacation until Monday, he can’t imagine working whilst hearing his son’s whimpers and whines in his head all day. The Sheriff of Beacon Hills with a raging hard on for his cum hungry son. Imagine the scandal.

He cleans up and returns to his spot on the couch in the living room, TV on low to some random news station. It’s almost 1pm on Friday, school is being let out early today for a reason the Sheriff doesn’t care to remember right now. All he knows is that Stiles will be coming home with a belly full of the veterinarians release.

He can’t be here when he does.

John shuts off the TV and grabs his keys. He takes his personal car, not the cruiser, he needs _some_ discretion for this.

Driving automatically to the center of town he idles two blocks over, waiting for the telltale pale blue of his son’s jeep to pass before he drives in the direction it came from. The direction of the clinic.

He arrives just as Deaton is flipping the sign on the door declaring lunch is over and opens the door for him,

“Sheriff,” he greets with a smile. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

He doesn’t respond, just walks past the ineffective mountain ash counter into the back hallway, retracing the path he’d taken yesterday. Deaton follows him to the office and shuts the door behind them, eyebrows raised but eyes full of wary understanding. John throws the spell paper on the desk,

“Explain.” His tone leaves no room for argument or delay.

“Ahh,” Deaton glances down and rocks on his heels for a moment. “Perhaps we sit?” He offers, gesturing to the chair in front of the desk while taking his own.

John takes the chair and reiterates his statement, “Explain.”

Deaton sighs and looks pointedly at the supply closet door, “I suppose I should start with, yes. I knew you were in the closet even before Stiles and I came onto the premises. Magical wards cannot be picked, and are quite good at alerting their casters.”

The Sheriff narrows his eyes, ready to admonish the veterinarian for pointing out something obvious and avoiding the real question. Deaton holds up a hand in a placating gesture,

“Stiles and I initiated our relationship several months ago after he came to me distressed. We talked and got to know each other, and consequently we ended up in bed together. I won’t lie, our relationship isn’t what you could call long-term or even romantic. I do truly care for him, but we both know what it is; we each have a desire to fill and found each other along the way. During our.. activities, Stiles expressed desire for rougher exercises, and we explored them together. Things that emulate control and lack of the same.”

He sighs now, leaning forward with his elbows on the desk and looking John in the eye.

“As I’m sure you know, I’ve been schooling Stiles in the teachings of pack emissaries. He’s quite gifted and will benefit either Scott or another Alpha in the future if he chooses, even himself if he keeps his power in focus. He was searching through a lot of older volumes I have stored away, having deemed most of their contents and methods obsolete or outdated, he came across a spell. That spell." He points a finger at the paper sitting accused on the desk, "I don’t know how long he had it or how long he thought about it, but when he came to me he was adamant about performing it. Told me that if I wouldn’t do it for him, he would do it himself. A spell like this can be _very_ dangerous if performed wrong, a misspoken word here or an ingredient ground to the wrong consistency there and Stiles could have ended up needing nourishment from any number of things; blood, human skin, Mexican dirt watered under a full moon after being blessed by an African priestess, you understand my point?”

The Sheriff nods and looks at his lap, solemn, angry at Deaton for performing the spell, but knowledgeable about Stiles’ stubborn ways. Who knows what could have resulted from an inexperienced druid using that spell. Deaton stays quiet a moment before continuing,

“Stiles never told me his reasoning for wanting this but I came to some conclusions a little while ago.”

John looks up again, pleading the question without words.

“He wants to feel taken care of.” Deaton explains simply, “After everything that happened, I think the idea of being fed in that way was a comfort. The act of _feeding_ Stiles like this is akin to a baby suckling from it’s mother, and that is the most tender care possible. Stiles has tried, and failed, to protect others as much as he can. I think he needs to feel that same care himself. He just went about it in an extreme way.”

The full realisation of Stiles’ actions, and reasoning, fall on John’s shoulders. His son just wanted to be taken care of, to feel _loved._  He doesn’t cry, he wants to, but he still has questions.

“I noticed the other night,” he starts, his voice cracked and thick with emotion, “your, um, testicles, were- fuck, okay, they were huge.” He forces the words out with an angry huff, eyebrows raised. Deaton smiles and nods,

“Yes. Stiles' appetite was quickly realised, and the normal human male couldn’t produce anywhere near enough to sustain him. There are many old fertility rites that help with barren couples, so I altered one to perform on myself.” He looks down at the desk, his anxiousness for this conversation apparent for the first time, “I now permanently produce enough for Stiles to be sufficiently nourished.”

The idea that planted itself in John’s mind days ago manifests even more. Deaton did this to himself? Does that mean it can be performed on anyone?

‘Does that mean that I could feed Stiles?’ he ponders.

“Can I do it?” The question leaves his mouth before his conscious mind can stop it. His eyes grow wide when he realises the implications of what he asked. Deaton smiles widely, warmly, eyes crinkling at the corners in understanding.

“Yes.”

“I want to take care of him.” The Sheriff admits in a small voice.

* * *

It takes two hours to perform the ritual, and after spending ten minutes crying in pain, John’s balls have ballooned. His cock sits two inches higher from the new bulge supporting them. He can _feel_ them filling, his body rushing to produce for his son. It’s _thrilling._

Deaton had given him a quick crash course on how to use the cock plug before the ritual, explaining that the seed he produces will slow when his balls are full, but it won’t stop. It would dribble down his thighs all day if he let it. Plugging his cock with the thick silicone sound felt unreal, he almost came once it was in and had to strangle his cock to keep his son’s precious nourishment inside. He couldn’t waste it. It was his son’s dinner.

He’d left the clinic walking like it was obvious he had huge balls (he did now), and self-consciously hurried back to his car, sans underwear. He groaned when his sack hit the seat, the full rounds squishy between his thighs. He rocked back and forth in the chair, feeling them roll and pulse as even more cum left them brimming.

He raced home, wishing he had his cruiser and the lights, and tried to formulate a speech in his head. He knew this was rash. He didn’t even know if this is what his son would want. Would Stiles want to suck his meals from his fathers cock? Would he let John take care of him like this? John would pray for hope if he could.

There was the mouthwatering smell of spaghetti sauce drifting through the open kitchen door when he entered the hallway, Stiles shouting out a quick greeting before appearing with his usual grin,

“Dinner’s ready.” He chirped with a thumb pointing over his shoulder.

“Yes, it is.” John growled out before yanking his son’s shoulder into the lounge, pushing him back onto the couch. He paced for a moment but spoke before his loudmouthed son could speak a word.

“I went to see Deaton.” Stiles brow furrowed but John kept going, “I was in the office the other night while you two were…” He trails off, a look of pure horror on Stiles’ face. John cups his son’s cheeks and catches the hot tears that spill with his thumbs, “It’s okay, we talked, it’s fine.”

Stiles hiccups as he tries to understand, “Fine? You just found out I’m a cum hungry whore, and it’s fine?!” His voice goes shrill as panic sets in.

John's face goes stern, anger boiling in his gut at Stiles’ self-deprecating words.

“I want to take care of you son,” He tells his quietly crying boy, “I want to feed you.”

Stiles looks at him in confusion, that quickly turns to understanding. “You mean, you..”

John stands and undoes his zipper. Stiles notices the enlarged bulge for the first time and his pupils dilate. “Dad?” His voice cracks, fingers tremble as they help his father unearth the bounty.

He outright moans when everything is exposed; plump balls twitching as they fill with more and more cum; half hard cock filling under his son’s attention; thick silicone plug wedged in the slit.

Stiles’ breathing is coming shallow and fast, fingers clawing away offending fabric to reveal more flesh. He leans in and rubs his face over the filling cock, the balls that made him, whines for the milk housed within.

“Daddy? Please?” Big brown eyes search John’s own, little pants ghosting over discovered flesh. John threads his fingers through his son’s shallow cut hair, and guides the needy mouth to the tip of his cock.

“Have your dinner son.” He almost wails as the hot, _sinful_ , tongue of his beloved son touches his length. Lips slide and kiss all over, savouring, worshipping, _revering_. Stiles takes the tip of the plug between his teeth and gently pulls it out, a thick dribble of cum after it that makes Stiles whimper. He sucks off the plug then traces the escaped glob of white with his tongue, sucking hard on the side of his fathers cock.

“Oh fuck son, such a good boy.” John can’t stop his mouth, everything he’s thought about rushing around in his head as vision becomes reality. As he takes care of his son. “Good little boy, let me feed you. Oh.” He groans deeply and pulls his chin into his chest as the air is punched out of him, Stiles having taken his thick cock to the hilt in his throat.

“That’s it, come on, let me fuck your mouth.” He pulls back a little to look at his son, eyes glazed over, delirious with lust and hunger. He doesn’t get an answer, Stiles unable to let the hot flesh from his greedy mouth, but gives his agreement by forcing his throat over the cock again, lips tight around the base. John can't hold on much longer.

“Shit Stiles. Gonna let me use your throat to milk your dinner out of me, eh? Squeeze all that cum from my balls straight - down - into - your - throat?” The last words are punctuated with vicious thrusts as John comes quickly into the parched throat. Stiles writhes when he cums dry as the hot, thick liquid spills down his throat. John holds him steady as he keeps cumming, engorged balls finally giving their all for his son, for the first time in nearly 18 years. They pulse hard and painfully, already filling up again for the next meal, but John is softly slipping from his son’s red lips.

Stiles looks dazed, sleepy and content, a mirror image of what John witnessed nights ago. Only now it’s John being gazed at with pure _love._ It’s so sincere it makes his heart clench.

He scoops up his boneless and satisfied son, taking him to John’s bed. Only retreating downstairs to ladle out some spaghetti to be eaten in bed, with the TV on and Stiles softly suckling his father’s soft cock as he dozes.

It’s time for the Sheriff of Beacon Hills to take care of his son for a while.


	3. Sustained

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Deputy didn't have the energy to move, barely aware of the unlocked office door, but jolted when the Sheriff walked inside. He started, and made to get up, but hesitated when he saw the fond look the Sheriff was directing at his son before flicking the lock and closing the blinds.
> 
> “Did you take care of my boy Parrish?”

Stiles is so hungry.

He’d taken his morning feed with gusto; his dad had pushed him off his oversensitive cock after Stiles tried to tempt it back to hardness for the third time.

Now it was nearly dinner time, and dad wasn't answering his calls. Neither was Deaton.

His stomach growled for attention and he hunched over in his jeep, panting against the steering wheel. He was parked outside of the Sheriff’s station, his last effort at finding his dad, and his  _ dinner _ . But it was a futile effort, the Sheriff’s cruiser was gone. As were the majority of the Deputies vehicles as well.

He hadn’t even tried to find Deaton. The Druid was away doing God knows what, God knows where,  for God knows how long.

Stiles blearily wandered into the station, waving off the desk clerk when they inquired after him, and made his way to his dad's office. He knew from experience that when the station was this deserted something big would be happening; a robbery; a car chase; or, since it's Beacon Hills, a creature only found in the Argent’s bestiary had decided to snack on little old ladies in the middle of the shopping precinct.

Regardless as to what was happening, the fact remained that his dad was gone, and Stiles was  _ famished. _

He needed his dinner, he'd missed his lunchtime meal already. He wanted Deaton or his dad to answer his calls, rush to his side and feed him that hot length. He  _ needed _ to taste that thick, salty treat he so desperately desired.

Stiles only spotted one Deputy as he made his way to the Sheriff’s office; the rookie sat at the farthest desk, left behind in case someone's cat got lost up a tree.

He used his copy of the Sheriff’s office key to let himself in and flopped down with a groan onto the sofa near the desk. He tossed and turned, thumping the lumpy cushions in distress.

Memories of the taste of his daddy’s cum floated in the back of his mind; images that portrayed him  _ bathing _ in the stuff; his daddy whispering sweet praises in his ear; Deaton forcing his dark cock down his throat and telling him how much of a slut he was for it. His body shivered in lust, his cock fattening in his pants.

He was groaning and whining so loudly he neglected to hear the door open to the office, a Deputy knelt down next to him and placed a hand on his feverish forehead. The contact was  _ burning _ his skin. His glassy eyes opened to see Deputy Parrish looking at him with concern. The Deputies pupils widened with lust when he smelled Stiles’ arousal, his cock twitching in his uniform.

Stiles, who had become attuned to even the  _ slightest _ hint of male arousal, perked up and threw himself at the Deputies pants.

“Stiles! What the hell are you doing?!” He wasn't answered however, Stiles was too busy relieving the Deputy of his offensive clothing and dragging him onto the sofa.

Parrish tried to push the incorrigible boy away, but short of using his newfound supernatural strength and claws he found he couldn't. He definitely couldn't when Stiles dug out his half hard cock and fucking  _ whined  _ before stuffing it in his mouth.

Parrish dug his fingers into Stiles’ scalp as he was taken deep into that throat; hot, wet, tight. His head knocked into the sofa behind him when Stiles started to  _ suck _ .

It was like nothing else for Stiles, he’d been so hungry for so long that even the  _ promise _ of the forthcoming meal made him orgasm dry in his pants. Parrish let out a choked moan when his cock was squeezed even harder by the contracting throat muscles, his hips bucking and chasing the wet heat.

Stiles bobbed his head faster, fucking his mouth over the Deputies cock, and gagging every time the head popped through the deepest ring of his throat. Saliva pooled around Parrish’s balls as his claws lengthened; his eyes burned with power; his teeth sharpened into fangs; a snarl erupted from his throat as his cock thickened at the base.

Stiles pulled a hand up to massage the new addition to Parrish’s cock. He was confused for all of a few seconds until he looked up through his lashes at the now shifted Hellhound. Dogs had knots.  _ Fuck yes _ . He shuddered and forced his lips and teeth over the growing bulge, barely able to breathe but not caring in the slightest as the snarling Deputy slammed his cock and knot deep into Stiles mouth.

It locked behind his teeth and Stiles came dry again when the first drops of thick, hot cum touched his throat. He wished he could taste it, bathe his altered tastebuds in the nectar to savour the sweet, salty, delectable flavour being pumped into his hungry stomach. He whined in relief as the pain abated now that he was finally being filled with sustenance.

Parrish was still panting and snarling above him, clawed hands gently scratching through his hair as the Hellhound rolled his hips into the stretched mouth. For the not first time in his life, Stiles was thankful that his comrades were supernatural versions of animals, as the sheer volume of cum being fed to him couldn't ever be produced by anything approaching human without Deaton’s fertility spell; it was almost as much as his dad produced for him now.

After 20 minutes Parrish’s knot had softened enough for it to slip out from behind Stiles’ teeth, but the boy just slid down the soaked length to nurse the tip, head resting in the Hellhound's lap.

Parrish had shifted back to normal now, but his eyes still held an unearthly glow as Stiles drifted off to sleep over his legs, still knelt on the floor but finally satisfied after being made to wait for his meal.

The Deputy didn't have the energy to move, barely aware of the unlocked office door, but jolted when the Sheriff walked inside. He started, and made to get up, but hesitated when he saw the fond look the Sheriff was directing at his son before flicking the lock and closing the blinds.

“Did you take care of my boy Parrish?” The Sheriff’s tone was soft and reverent, as he gently pulled Stiles off the Deputies soft cock and carried him over to the desk. Stiles’ father pulled out the chair and sat down, placing a whining, still asleep Stiles on the floor below him.

The Sheriff raised an eyebrow in question to his Deputy, who suddenly remembered the question and nodded hesitantly while redressing in his trousers.

“Good.” The Sheriff unbuckled his pants, and Parrish could see from the sofa the monstrous bulge inside the Sheriff’s boxers. “That's very good. I got held up on the other side of down so I couldn't give him lunch, I was worried because it's almost dinnertime and I haven't fed him.”

The Sheriff pulled down his boxers now, and the Deputies eyes flared orange when the silicone cock plug was eased out of the Sheriff’s already hard cock, a white dribble of fluid leaking down the purplish length. Stiles had continued to whimper since he was taken from Parrish but settled once he was directed to suckle from his daddy's cock.

The Sheriff sighed as Stiles latched onto the dripping length and took it straight down his throat, fully woken now and tonguing his daddy's enormous, overfilled balls as the fat cock bulged in his throat.

Stiles pounded his face in his daddy's lap, still needing more, still needing to be fed by his daddy's seed.

The Sheriff motioned the stunned and very aroused Deputy over to the desk where he held out a piece of paper for him to read. He could barely tear his eyes away from the drooling teenager latched onto his father’s cock like it would give him the meaning of life. Parrish’s cock twitched hard when he realised that the cock in Stiles’ throat really  _ did _ give him life.

He finally tore his eyes away from the feeding boy to read the paper he'd been given.

“A spell?” He asked, looking quickly up at the Sheriff who nodded and elaborated.

“Yeah, I wanted you to read - _ fuck Stiles _ \- read that so you know that Stiles wanted this, it was his - _ shit son, take your milk. Such a good boy-” _ The Sheriff petered off of his explanation as he emptied his huge, built up load onto his desperate son’s waiting tongue.

Parrish understood what he meant anyway, be understood that Stiles had done this  _ to himself _ . He had purposefully turned himself into a cum-hungry cocksucker who would hunt out anyone capable of delivering a white hot load into his stomach.

The Deputies cock was painfully engorged and eager inside his trousers again, made worse by the Sheriff’s soft praise to his son, who was lathing his tongue over draining, wrinkled balls.

Parrish was debating how to ask permission for another turn in that glorious,  _ sinful, _ mouth.

The Sheriff caught his expression, but only smiled widely and asked, “Tell me Deputy, just  _ how much  _ do you care for my boy?”


	4. Gorged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You need to start running now Stiles.” Deaton’s calm voice and words shocked him speechless for a moment. He looked to his dad, while he now stood only in his t-shirt, underwear and shoes in the cold air.
> 
> “He’s right son. There are predators in these woods and they’ll love a prey animal like you.”

Stiles had been becoming insatiable lately. After each feed he wanted those full balls to empty into him again and again. Deaton and his dad were becoming frustrated; his dad furious he’d tried to skip school and worried he’d start soliciting other people to be fed; Deaton annoyed at being distracted from work and concerned at the strain it could put on their bodies to produce so much nourishment for Stiles.

But Stiles didn’t care. He did really he supposed, but when the hunger got so bad all those thoughts were pushed away in preference of that thick flesh spilling hot down his throat. His throat was always parched, but water had no effect. Only when his throat was covered in white cum was he quenched.

He’d been arguing with his dad recently, so heatedly that it ended up with one or the other storming out of the house to be elsewhere. Stiles would head straight to Deaton’s clinic and nurse his cock for a few hours, until he slunk home to be wrapped in his dad’s arms and tucked into bed for the night; his daddy’s unplugged cock slowly dripping into his mouth throughout.

He had also visited Deputy Parrish at the station a few times since his dad caught them in his office.The Sheriff had expressed concern about Parrish knotting his son’s mouth, but Stiles showed him right then and there how well he could stretch his mouth around it. They would sneak out to Parrish’s cruiser sometimes, driving around before parking in an abandoned lot somewhere so Stiles could feed.

Stiles loved the look of the snarling, vicious Deputy above him. He felt minuscule when he knelt before the Hellhound, being pumped full of potent seed while claws raked over his scalp. He felt like glass, breakable and fragile under this monster’s attention. It thrilled him when the Hellhound started dirty talking to him one day; _how good he would look all plump and pregnant; how he wished he could push his knot further into his throat, make him pass out on it; how he wished he could breed Stiles in the town square so everyone would know who he belonged to_. Stiles eyes had rolled back in his head and his entire body twitched as he had the strongest orgasm of his life.

A few days ago his dad and Deaton had told him they’re planning a surprise, something he would love. He had no idea what it was but he trusted his dad and Deaton to know what he wanted, what he _needed._ Stiles' mind raced with salacious thoughts and he had been trembling with desire and trepidation ever since.

Finally the day had come for his surprise, but he was a little confused when his dad drove him to the clinic and ushered him inside. They locked themselves in Deaton’s office, where the Druid had already placed Stiles’ cushion on the floor for him to take position. Stiles was happy but disappointed if this was the surprise; they do this every week.

Every Friday Stiles would kneel on his cushion and wait for his feeders to reveal their thick cocks and restorative balls, he would keen as they were slowly unplugged and they fed him the white globs that escaped, letting him suck off the plugs. He’d pant under the praise and humiliation from his daddy and Deaton respectively, his own cock trying to drool in his pants, balls pulling tight to his groin. He would tentatively lick the proffered lengths as they took turns teasing his hungry orifice, before allowing him to finally feed properly. He’d whine, whimper and groan at the taste and texture; the viscous liquid sliding down his throat and making his stomach growl for more. The dark and pale flesh offered would be ravaged, and bloated balls massaged until the last drops were Stiles’ to drink.

The only difference this time is that when Deaton had spent, he bent Stiles over his seated daddy’s lap and exposed his rear. The boy suckled on the pulsing cock as dark, thick fingers were slicked up and pushed through his rim. Three sunk into the loose hole immediately, Stiles sucking harder and bucking his hips when Deaton ground against his sweet spot. He deepthroated his daddy’s cock and went lax, his whole body shuddering as his dry orgasm crashed over him when Deaton managed to push his fist inside. His throat tightened painfully around the Sheriff’s cock, and he couldn’t breathe as his daddy pushed his chin into his juicy balls and released down his throat.

Stiles was boneless and had to be carried to Deaton’s truck when they left. He only realised they weren’t going home however when they passed the Beacon Hills’ welcome sign. He sat up a little and tried to talk, “Where‘re we goin’?”

Deaton chuckled at his stoned appearance, “Oh, your surprise isn’t over yet Stiles. I’ve invited a few friends to meet us this evening.”

Stiles nodded, bleary eyed and happily slumped further in his seat. He dozed until the truck pulled to a stop at the end of a dirt track and they exited the vehicle, Stiles being supported by his dad as his legs were still a little weak. They didn’t talk to him as they led him over to an old bench. They bent him over with no protest from Stiles and tugged off his pants, pulling his boxer shorts down a little to find his red hole. He groaned when cold, wet was smeared over and just inside his rim, fingers scissored and massaged his walls.

He was rocking back into the invading digits, enjoying the stimulation, when they were removed and his underwear was yanked back up. He turned and gave them an accusing look but was cut off before he could admonish them for stopping.

“You need to start running now Stiles.” Deaton’s calm voice and words shocked him speechless for a moment. He looked to his dad, while he now stood only in his t-shirt, underwear and shoes in the cold air.

“He’s right son. There are predators in these woods and they’ll love a prey animal like you.” The Sheriff stepped closer and cupped his son’s face, his words were whispers as he tried to make his son understand. “Stiles, we’d never let you get hurt. You _will_ be safe tonight. Whoever finds you will respond to the safeword you use with Deaton.”

Stiles’ eyes widened as he finally understood. His father urged him to repeat his safeword now, so they were all on the same page. “Mistletoe.” He swallowed, nervous lust lighting up in his veins.

The Sheriff smiled and pressed a kiss to his son’s forehead before turning the half naked boy around and nudging him towards the forest. “Go on, they won’t wait forever.”

With one last look behind him, his dad and Deaton getting in the truck, he startled jogging into the hunting grounds.

* * *

He was running, floundering through the undergrowth. There were the sounds of footsteps behind him, low snarls and growls dancing in his ears. They were having fun. He was running like a frightened mouse from a cat, and they were having _fun._

There was a loud thud from behind him before a heavy weight on his back sent him crashing to the forest floor. Leaves and twigs pressed into his face and bare legs as a hot tongue licked over the back of his neck. Clawed fingers left scratches as they trailed down his hips and tore off his underwear. Hot breath ghosted over his gooseflesh cheeks. He kicked backwards and sent the predator lurching backwards as he scrambled forwards, trying to get away. He was stopped when two pairs of glowing blue eyes appeared in front with menacing growls.

Stiles’ heart kicked up another notch and he whimpered as that tongue licked from his balls to the top of his crack, sharp nails pulling apart his cheeks for better access to their prize. He was breached by that long pointed tongue and keened as it tickled his walls.

The two monsters before him had moved and reappeared at his sides, pulling up his hips and widening his knees, chest pushed against the floor. Elongated canines were dragged across his ribcage making his body shiver, claws traced nonsensical designs over cold skin, and rigid cocks brushed against his underside.

Fingers soon replaced the tongue inside him, claws gratefully retracted, and worked to stretch him further. Deaton had only just about gotten his fist inside before they left but now he was being manipulated further; a fist and one finger; a fist and three fingers; a fist and- _oh fuck;_ two fists in his ass, moulding it to unbelievable proportions.

Stiles was infinitely grateful for his affinity for magic, and his warped fascination for stuffing his ass with the largest things he could find. Eight months ago he had found a rune spell that, when etched into his skin with a certain solution, would let his asshole stretch a heinous size then tighten back up ready to be defiled again.

The two fists made his insides feel _euphoric_ , and the snarling growls around him increased in volume and intensity. Every touch left him then. A snapping, cracking and clicking sound, like bones breaking and reforging, pervaded the air behind him; his original assailant lifted his groggy head and he saw glowing orange eyes as a drooling cock was fed between his lips.

Stiles whimpered at the taste and sucked eagerly, only jumping slightly when something almost the same size of the two fists poked at his hole. The stretch burned and he whined around the cock in his mouth as his already abused hole was violated further. Massive hands wrapped around his hips and Stiles finally realised what was being pushed inside him; it was a cock. _A fucking monster cock_. It was destroying his asshole, pushing half a foot inside him before pausing.

He rocked back slowly, the pulsing heat inside him forcefully making room for itself in his guts. He wanted more, he wanted to be _ripped apart_ on this cock. The massive hands on his hips slowly started to develop claws and dug painfully into the skin, using it as leverage as Stiles was sheathed over the behemoth of a cock. It went deeper, passing a foot long until finally Stiles could no longer tell which way was up, and grapefruit sized balls pushed against his thighs.

His body was used like a rag doll then, forced backwards and forwards between the gape inducing length in his ass, and the _delicious_ cock that dripped into his mouth. Every sensitive spot of his insides was pounded and his own cock was limp in exhaustion, consecutive orgasms having finally worn out the outpaced organ. Stiles was still cumming however, full body orgasms that left him limp, only being held up by the claws embedded in his hips and the cock in his throat.

The slide of the giant cock against his insides became faster, rougher. The slamming increased in pace until it began to swell further. Stiles knew what was coming, he would beg and plead for it if he could. As it was he could only babble in his head as his rim was pulled at from the inside by the quickly expanding melon sized knot. There was a mighty, bellowing roar from the creature stuffed in his ass and Stiles fucking _screamed_ around the cock in his mouth. Both cocks came at the same time, Stiles mouth dribbling with salty sweet fluid as he tried to swallow, his distended stomach bloating even further as it filled with seed. He sobbed and thrashed as the knot pressed against his ruined prostate and pushed back with what little, futile strength he had left. The beast behind him let out a deep chuckle, then groaned as it rotated it’s hips to grind into the mess of a boy.

He wasn’t Stiles anymore. He was a sack of bones, blood and flesh as he lay on the forest floor; scratched, bruised and blood smeared; tears dripped down his face lost to be lost in the undergrowth; cum dribbled languidly from his slack mouth; almost inaudible whines came from his voice box; his pathetically limp cock burning and purple from abuse; legs twitching as the cock in his utterly _wrecked_ hole tickled his nerves from the inside.

The predators caressed him as they waited for the monster’s knot to go down, he was licked and cleaned like a pup, and muscles were massaged back to full feeling. When the knot finally came free it felt like the world fell out of his ass, a colossal amount of cum fell into the leaves and dirt, bathing the backs of his and the beast’s thighs with it.

Stiles sagged into the body in front of him, cradled and crooned at as the snapping and cracking noise came again. There were tender touches and kisses pressed to his skin now as they picked him up and carried him back in turn. First Aiden, then Ethan and finally Parrish; to whom he clung like an octopus and nuzzled into the crook of his neck as best he could.

He was dripping cum from every hole, and filthy from the forest when they arrived back at the truck to find his dad and Deaton leaning against it's side, waiting with obvious tents in their pants. Parrish laid him face down on the now blanketed bench as they changed and prepared to leave. His dad came over to help his boy and Stiles drifted off to sleep finally. Dozing to the sound of his father’s reverent voice, praising him as thick fingers swirled through the cum still weeping from his utterly _obliterated_ asshole, before a huge plug was inserted to keep the remainder inside.

_“Fuck, you’re such a good little boy Stiles.”_

* * *

 

I imagine that a plug resembling [this](http://www.lovehoney.co.uk/product.cfm?p=17541) size would have to be used in order to contain the twins load inside Stiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Fancy a chat? Leave a comment or come find me on [Tumblr](http://papurukakugan.tumblr.com) x


End file.
